Veraka's Saga
by Lord Rumfish
Summary: This is the epic saga of Veraka Cursebringer, a powerful yet unwise jester. It is in the style of "Sir Gawain and the Green Knight," large irregular stanzas comprised by alliteration rather than rhyme. Like SGatGK it has the "bob and wheel" ending each stanza. Unlike SGatGK, I will not adhere to strict courtly values. Dark comedy and absurdism offset the serious tone of the epic.
1. Part 1

Part 1

To Candlekeep of Sword Coast came a comely young lass,  
Guarded through magic by the grey-beard Gorion,  
A mysterious mage and musician of the harp,  
Who untiring came to unlikeable Ulraunt, Keeper of the Tomes,  
Seeking sanctuary in so noble a hold.  
Hard words they had, till haughty Ulraunt heeded  
Worldly wisdom compounded by prophesies' want,  
Till at last the lord Ulraunt lamented the life  
Of the somber sage Gorion for settling his course,  
But gave to him quarters to sequester a queen  
Matriarch for a throne of mayhem and murder  
Half-goddess given flesh, a human girl:  
Veraka.  
The girl grew up within  
Not knowing birthright's claim  
Her songs could conquer men  
As power and beauty came.

Gorion guarded the girl as a father would daughter,  
But Veraka confounded her wise foster father  
Her capriciousness crept through the Keep in her wake  
While weary Keep Watchers would weather satire,  
And monks were mocked and made jest of for sport.  
Yet Gorion grew hopeful the girl would not follow  
The grim fate foretold for those of her blood  
The daughter of Bhaal did not darken his door  
Her jackanapes jokery well-suited to jesters  
Was a far cry from fomenting fear and mass murder  
The trickster teenager might try his patience,  
But he saw there was more than evil in  
her heart.  
The girl loved a good jest  
And mastered spoken word  
She studied spells with zest  
And fought with bow and sword.

In her twentieth year full-blossomed and beauteous,  
Veraka Cursebringer could confuse a philosopher  
The strength of three men lay in long limber limbs  
Whose grace was as lissome as the lithe lovely elves  
Her form in fine fettle and fit for fierce fights  
Matched allurement and artistry in all ways but one:  
Her impish impulsiveness impaired her good judgment  
No noble would note her for wisdom uncommon  
Despite the keen mind she managed within.  
It was in this year grave Gorion gave notice  
The lass must leave Candlekeep or lose her life  
For foul-hearted malefactors would find her or fetch her  
Though the codger kept his counsel and couldn't say why.  
She chose able chainmail to safeguard her charms  
A longbow to let loose a volley of grief  
A greatsword she girded, most germane for gore  
Full-furnished for battle, she found her foster father  
The she sallied forth, sure-stepping out  
the gate.  
She thought she was prepared  
As she stepped through the gate  
Gorion was rightly scared  
As he approached his fate.

Through the dark drear of night the duo advanced  
As the bright lidless eye slid behind the horizon  
Till in a clearing Gorion cried calamity  
As ambushers approached from the cover of trees.  
A knight of black aspect now beheld the bold pair  
His dread armor dark as the bottomless depths  
His helmet had horns, the visor a maw  
As though demon's skull did adorn his head  
Sharp spikes at his shoulders, sharper than shears,  
With blades on his boots and born at his arms  
A terrible greatsword he took to hand  
And his eyes were as cold as the slimy Styx.  
His comrades were killers, two callous great ogres,  
And a pair of hard highwaymen with arrows in hand,  
Finally, a fair vixen of foreign features  
Strong-suited in armor and standing behind  
The dark knight who dared the duo to fight  
till death.  
Gorion straightened tall,  
A fierce look in his eye,  
And it was clear to all  
He would not fear to die.

"Hand over your ward," the awful warrior spake,  
"And no one will be hurt." He waited and watched  
As moonlight showed the match in malevolent silver.  
"No fool would believe your benevolence," Gorion bantered,  
"Step aside and you and your soldiers will be safe."  
A ghastly grin grew across the dark knight's guise  
And he spoke to the sojourner with sardonic stress  
"I'm sorry you seem so certain, old man."  
Bowstrings stretched taut; soon battle would be joined.  
Veraka verily felt juvenile and vulnerable  
Yet an arrow appeared notched, archer's training apparent  
She pulled the projectile along pliant string  
Till the full fletched arrow length was fastened for flight  
The ignoble knight's glowering gaze her target.  
Before her bow sang and the battle be joined  
Gorion gave order: "Run girl, get out of here!"  
Veraka felt fate in her foster father's  
command.  
She could not see the sense  
Of dying there that night  
Her sorrow was intense  
As she fled through the night.

On her fearful flight through the foreign forest  
Veraka heard horrors of hated battle behind her  
Quick spells were slung in sublime slaughter  
As Gorion's great gamble played out in grief  
Bandits and barbaric ogres lay bleeding  
Yet the knight and his mistress stood scorched but scantly  
From the fireball Gorion hoped would flatten the field.  
The wily witch unwound Gorion's defenses  
And the dark knight drove his blade to the death.  
Veraka felt helpless as her heart held silent  
Gorion's great power only granted escape  
Her cold reminder of cowardice came  
As she tore past the trees, her tears  
flowed trite.  
Veraka was not caught  
The dark knight had moved on  
Her life was sorely bought  
She grimaced at the dawn.

Veraka made camp on the coast road to Candlekeep  
She shivered and shuddered from the cold within  
Her heart made heavy at the death of Gorion  
And her shame for fleeing when she should remain  
But the battle was behind, and her life yet before her.  
As she pondered her plans in pensive appraisal  
An amiable voice rang: "Heya, it's me, Imoen!"  
Veraka saw stepping along the stone street  
Her childhood friend, a most cheeky cherub  
Imoen had picked locks and pilfered coinpurses  
Now softly she had snuck from stone-walled safety  
To join the jaded jester on her jaunty adventures  
Yet the young one well knew her friend had been yenched  
She had come to the carnage by cover of night  
So she offered her service: "I saw Gorion, I'm so sorry!  
I'm no fair-weather friend, I will fight by your side."  
Veraka was worried her wanderings would imperil  
The only friend or family left in all of Faerun  
But glad of her company, she grew gregarious once more  
And set out to search for signs of the sinful  
dark knight.  
She tried to trace her steps  
To find the ambush site  
She entered wooded depths  
To set her course aright.

Vying with wolves and gibberlings, Veraka ventured  
To the meeting of massacre, morose sight indeed  
Bodies undisturbed, the dark knight did not loot them  
So she knelt by Gorion and bawled bitter tears  
And Imoen held her, a sisterly hug.  
Yet the girl did not give herself long to grieve  
She spent several hours to dig a deep grave  
Together they laid great Gorion to rest  
A few keepsakes she kept to continue his quest  
And remember the man who made sacrifice.  
The dead soldiers she scavenged for something of use  
But their corpses in the clearing were carrion for crows.  
With Imoen outfitted, they sought the old open road  
But before a lone hour could pass, the bold pair  
Came across a couple of cantankerous travelers  
A sour sullen halfling with shortsword at his side  
Whose glowering gaze would give gibberlings goosebumps  
And a mad male magician, a star-craving human  
The robes he was wearing were emerald green  
And the smile that snaked across his face  
was sharp.  
The odd pair then did beckon  
The halfling tried to smile  
By Imoen's quick reckon  
The two had serpent's guile.

Veraka came closer, curious of their purpose  
And the robed man spoke in saccharine sympathy:  
"Ho, Montaron! Two heroines on hard times;  
Surely you must seek some succor from strife."  
The halfling said, "Aye, two women worse for wear  
Trouble must trail you to tire you so."  
"Indeed, but I offer an elixir for ingestion  
To wipe away wounds and will not ask for coin.  
As I live, I simply long to help those in need,"  
The green robed man grinned, almost ghoulishly.  
Veraka said, "Verily, our vim and verve waver,  
We will not refuse aid from well-wishing wayfarers."  
Imoen did dismay in dubious disbelief  
That her friend would fall victim to far-fetched fibs  
Yet the potion she pocketed proved pure enough.  
"Perhaps in polite payment you'll travel to Nashkel  
Where we weathered wayfarers will seek to unravel  
A mystery most dire, a mine's missing iron."  
"Your conscience will guide you, like all good globetrotters,"  
Montaron mentioned as an offhand remark.  
Veraka said, "Sirs, I must seek out others  
My father was faring to find at an inn.  
If you would come with me for but a short while  
We may travel as one to walk the world's wilds."  
"Then let us make haste, and head for these heroes  
With zero delay, for I am Xzar the zendik, and the Zhe-"  
"Hold your tongue and travel for a time,"  
Montaron cut in, his countenance cold.  
Xzar began bickering in woebegone banter  
In undertones understood only by him  
Veraka came, curious why Xzar's mind was  
clouded.  
The four then traveled on  
Along the coastway road  
Xzar's mind was nearly gone  
Dissent began to sow.

They camped that night after casting about the coast  
One last look for the long-gone dark knight  
And Montaron muttered most malevolent threats  
Against Veraka and Xzar, vehement vitriol;  
Imoen was now nervous to nod off near him.  
Veraka grew angry with the always-arguing halfling  
As she spoke to Xzar, seeking the cause of his sickness.  
"Xzar, what malady infests your mind?  
What magic or mischief has muddled you so, mage?"  
He slowly soaked in a susurrus breath  
And languidly lavished the following legend:  
"Noble Xzar hails from Xanadu, zenith of power  
Where wild faeries flit and wobbling worgs play.  
In my seventeenth year I sought sorcery to learn  
And a master mage Merlin made me his apprentice  
But the sassy sword wouldn't unstick from the stone!  
I left his long tutelage and lingered in Waterdeep  
Seeking out spell scrolls to supplement me  
Until I stole aught from the Oracle of Oghma  
And the god gave me gibbering to guard his secrets  
For those the creators wish to cast down, they  
make crazed."  
Veraka laughed aloud  
At the ludicrous tale  
Xzar's eyes gleamed almost proud  
Within his skull-bound jail.

"I see you have a spellbook," Xzar said suddenly,  
Though not once had his eyes beheld the book in her bag,  
"There is knowledge I'll teach you, noble necromancy  
Is a dying art. Get it?" He giggled and guffawed.  
Veraka chuckled at the churlish chaff, then smiled  
And said, "If it please you, I'll put forth the study  
To scribe your spare scrolls till the spells have been learned  
If you'll tell me more stories." She grew more merry  
For Xzar had reminded her she was a jester,  
His dark absurd drollery distracted her grief  
So the pair studied spells and swapped stories that night  
As Imoen and Montaron marked the madcap chat.  
The halfling grew restless and raised a ruckus  
He threatened the three with harm in their sleep  
If they didn't stop talking, it tested his patience.  
Veraka could stand for no more such abuse  
As Montaron mirrored in her mind the dark knight  
So she asked him directly, "Montaron, do you dare  
To consider your keep above your companions?"  
"I have no equal harlot," the halfling harangued,  
"But I work best alone, so blast your all's blundering!"  
"In that case, you can conquer all dangers alone  
Without want of our warriors?" her tone was a warning.  
"I defy every danger and bring death to any  
That dare cross me mistress, and might include you."  
"Why then, a black bear should prove but boring  
To so great a soldier as you claim to be."  
Before he could comment, Veraka Cursebringer  
Laid arrow to bow and shot a black bear  
Not twenty yards distant within the dark wood  
In the meat of its shoulder, a wound not to murder  
But berate the black bear into closing for battle  
And Montaron knew he might meet his match  
As it charged full fiercely to find its foe.  
Veraka stood still, staring down the small halfling  
He knew he must fight or his bluff be called  
So Montaron grunted, "I'll play your game girl;  
If I live your last longing will be for mercy  
When my game plays out." Then glaring grimly  
Montaron turned to tackle the charging  
black bear.  
He fought well for his kind,  
The bear was nearly felled  
Until a blow unkind  
Caught him as a death knell.

"Montaron! I... I never loved you!" Xzar loudly lamented  
As Imoen clucked her tongue and shook her head heavily  
The companions quickly killed the calamitous bear  
Now weakened with wounds it became easy prey  
And they made meal of bear meat around the campfire.  
Xzar said, "We should take every item of profit  
From his corpse, then fling him far off of the cliffs.  
It's what Montaron would want, he once told me so."  
Taking Xzar at his utterance, Veraka took Montaron  
After looting the body, she lifted the limp form  
And tossed him towards the sea, his tale at an end.  
In the cover of night, a young noble nearby  
Who had just been judging whether to jump  
And end his existence, espied this event;  
So scared was the snob that he went sobbing home  
And came never near again, except in nightmares.  
At last, the tired travelers took shelter to sleep  
Beneath some beech trees and bided till dawn  
Then they traveled to the east to reach a crossroad  
To find the Friendly Arm Inn, where Gorion's fautors  
are found.  
The three did travel east  
The inn's comfort to seek.  
An old man had them cease,  
Desiring much to speak.

The old man in the road was a mystical mage  
His hat, cloak and robe were red as the rose  
And his bushy beard white as the bright fallen snow  
With a staff in his hand and concern in his eye  
He approached the adventurers, words aimed at Veraka:  
"Ho there travelers, 'tis nigh unto a tenday  
Since a soul has sought this road; 'tis most solemn  
To walk the wilderness alone. Wandering now  
Is reserved for the desperate or deranged; I desire  
To perceive, if thou wilt pardon my presumption,  
Which pertains to thee?" He paused for reply.  
Xzar whispered, "Deranged, daddy dearest, deranged!"  
Veraka spoke up, "Not to insinuate senselessness,  
But how do you hold up against your own standards?  
Pestering pilgrims about their prudence impolitely  
Doesn't warrant one wisdom, nor is well-adjusted."  
"Point taken, thy riposte answers me completely,  
I denote you now as 'determined' instead.  
Thou wilt find the Friendly Arm Inn to the north  
Where friends shall await thee. I will waste no more  
Of thy time, and cease to trouble thee travelers."  
The old man took his leave, and lingered there  
no more.  
The old man did depart  
Veraka thought it strange  
They fought a few xvarts  
Till the inn had come in range.

The Friendly Arm Inn could be called a keep  
So great were its walls and well-placed defenses  
They were greeted by guards who granted them access  
To the courtyard within. They carried on calmly  
Relaxed now to find fine comforts at last  
They came to the entrance, when a call cut short  
Their peace, as a man paced towards them with purpose.  
"Hi friend," he hailed with a well-oiled smile,  
"What business brings you to the bustling inn?"  
Imoen muttered, "I don't like him, he might mean us harm."  
Veraka replied, "We are world-weary travelers  
Seeking some solitude in this secure stronghold."  
The black-robed man said, "Ah, I see. I'm sorry  
to trouble you, but I wonder if you've traveled  
To Candlekeep, or came from that castle perchance?"  
Veraka had heeded her thief friend's warning  
And so said, "Candlekeep? Never heard of such a place."  
The man became menacing, "I might have cause to doubt  
Your words, you fit the description full finely.  
Stay still, I have something to give you, don't struggle."  
He cast a spell, summoning shapes of his image  
To confuse the attacks his assailants might aim.  
Seeing their plight, Imoen peppered arrows  
And Xzar sent a spell to steal some life essence  
Their efforts only ended two echoes of the enemy.  
Veraka got her greatsword, and gambled on which  
Of the images left was the murderous mage  
With a lay to Tymora, the Lady of Luck  
Veraka left it to chance as he chanted again  
And before his second spell started to strike  
Her greatsword gashed true in ghastly grim gore  
Tearing through two arms and a torso in twain  
Only bloody bits of body were left of the brigand  
Xzar laughed in loud triumph at the lurid sight  
Of Veraka blood-covered in conquest at the kill  
complete.  
They found a few fit scrolls  
Among the spells she read  
One message left her cold:  
A bounty on her head.

Imoen fetched some water to wash off the waste  
From the fight with Tarnesh, failed mage and assassin  
Veraka wondered why someone wanted her dead  
And if the black knight who had butchered brave Gorion  
Was the same who sought her now through spineless schemes  
Leaving more lackeys to lay ambushes and plague her.  
Meanwhile, Xzar meandered until he made discovery  
Of a ring wrapped and hidden at the roots of a tree  
Veraka asked, "How came you to collect this curiosity  
Or know that the novelty was nearby at all?"  
"Much Madness is divinest Sense -  
To a discerning Eye," Xzar did reply.  
Grinning, they gamboled to Garl Glittergold's temple  
Within the walls of the weather-tight inn  
For a fee, the priestess proclaimed the ring rightly  
To be more than bright bauble, but a friend unto mages  
To let them sling spells in not seldom supply  
Xzar gladly grabbed the ring and greedily wore it  
His power more potent than previously.  
No more deterred, Veraka dared to delve in  
the inn.  
The three did step within  
The Friendly Arm to find  
Gorion's friends had been  
Waiting there for some time.

In the corner a couple had been keeping watch  
For the first sign of Veraka or her fallen foster father  
A man clad in mail and most adroit in melee  
His sword and shield surely of no small use  
Yet a needless nervousness was in his mien  
And a woman was with him, she wore leather armor  
And carried a quarterstaff, her countenance was calm;  
The two tired trekkers were hardy half-elves.  
Veraka could see this was clearly the couple  
Whom Gorion had mentioned they would meet here  
So she spoke to the seekers, "Friends and sojourners,  
Well met." She awaited reply in full awareness.  
"C-calm yourself dear, we must c-continue c-c-carefully,"  
He stuttered and stammered as he stepped towards his wife,  
"My name is K-Khalid. Your c-countenance comes c-close  
To resembling Gorion." His wife then retorted,  
"It seems a slight upon him, but I see it too."  
"Jaheira, m-mind your m-m-manners! This must be the child  
Gorion spoke of so often." Jaheira then said,  
"Forgive my rough manner, I am called Jaheira.  
Gorion does not guard you? I must guess the worst."  
"It's well worse than that," Veraka said wearily,  
And told the two her tale of trouble and trickery.  
"We share your loss, lass," Khalid lamented.  
"We were your guardians if Gorion should be gone,  
But you're a child no longer, and the choice is your own.  
Know that we need to seek Nashkel to nose out  
The reason why the iron crisis is reaching this crest."  
"You could t-travel with us a time, t-till you settle your t-trade."  
Veraka said, "It seems we seek the same goal,  
For Xzar is on a quest to quell the quarry's disquiet."  
"My governess is gracious to give me regard,"  
Xzar piped up in the petulant prolations of a preteen.  
Jaheira said, "Truly? Then we shall travel together,  
The better to be bolstered against blackguard's plans  
Within or without." She watched Xzar well warily,  
waiting.  
The group did now comprise  
Five with husband and wife  
They sold off some supplies  
And made ready for strife.

After sleeping, they spoke to some solemn sojourners  
Who had need of heroes to hash out hard evils  
They retrieved a rare ring robbed by hobgoblin highwaymen  
Then sought out an ogre stealing sashes and belts  
Jaheira tangled the brute in tough twisting vines  
For she was a druid in addition to dour defender  
And the brute was but a pincushion for their arrows' barbs  
They gathered the girdles and stowed the cinctures  
Then traveled the south trail that took them to Beregost  
Fighting bandits and brutes of the barbaric races  
Till the town was in view, true rest it seemed  
After ambling, aching ambushes and all arrows assailing  
Veraka was very keen on visiting a tavern  
To drink, to sleep, to sleep, perchance to Dream  
And forget the not few afflictions and fears  
But trouble was to travel on her coattails and hound  
her trail.  
A damsel dressed as mage  
Did call out in distress  
It would not take a sage  
To notice her duress.

The half-elf ahead had a red and pink robe  
She carried a stout staff wrought with some sorcery  
Her pate was prettified by pale pink hair  
And her eyes were wondrous wide like a wheel of Gond.  
"Hey you! Yes, you! I don't see other young heroes yonder.  
A little help, please?" she pushed with impatience.  
"Best not to bother," Jaheira bespoke, bugging Veraka.  
"Of course, what do you require?" Veraka called.  
"There's bandits! Belligerent, bedeviling bandits!  
They're trying to take me for torments unknown!"  
Veraka said, "Hunted by hex-throwing highwaymen?  
It sounds a tall tale, to tell you the truth."  
"Listen, I've love to lay out the lowdown,  
But it's too late for talk, we're out of time!"  
A group of grave men approached the girl  
Two red-robed mages and a pair of scrappers.  
"You would try to find refuge with unfortunate fools?  
Your cowardice proves as deadly as your dissonant wizardry,"  
The lead mage said. The daring damsel made reply,  
"Fine talk for a foe who won't clarify his cause!  
Get away before my new gang puts a gash in your gob!"  
The lead mage hailed haughtily the heroine's party,  
"You there, give me the girl! Surely you won't gamble  
Your life for a stranger?" Veraka studied, then said,  
"What jurisdiction justifies you hijacking magicians?"  
"By my authority as a thaumaturge of Thay, we must study  
Her peculiar powers, both to protect the public  
And the half-elf herself, with no heed to her wishes."  
"By 'study,' you seem to be suggesting 'dissection,'"  
Veraka rejoined, readying bow and arrow.  
"You shall not be privy to the procedure, pedestrian!  
Hand her over with haste, or I'll have your heads."  
"Come and claim her, if you can," Veraka cried clearly.  
"If you wish to waste away for a wild mage, so be it,"  
The lead mage was ready to let loose illusions  
But the half-elven damsel did a devious spell  
To teleport and trap the traducer for some time  
away.  
The lead mage now was gone  
His flunkies were befuddled  
But the battle still was on  
The enemies' plans were muddled.

The same spell that sent away the supercilious mage  
Also scattered Veraka's associates through the scene  
Imoen was wide-eyed, facing down two warriors  
While Khalid was cast back, with ground to cover  
Xzar also appeared adjacent to murderous melee  
Jaheira and Veraka stood beside the strange girl  
Whose gambling gifts scattered the guardians like grain.  
"Ekandor? Where did you disappear to?  
Slaughter the strange pests, we'll sort it out later!"  
The remaining mage commanded, and melee ensued  
Though scattered, the heroes had hope to win yet  
They focused their fire to kill the spellcaster  
Arrows, sling bullets, and Xzar's spell bit true  
The apprentice of Ekandor did die that day.  
The wild half-elf spell-slinger released a color spray  
That sent two soldiers swooning, as well as two friends:  
Imoen and Xzar fell affected by the trick.  
The two warriors were dispatched within a moment  
Then the calamitous colleen came forward to speak,  
"I'm really, really sorry about the ruckus just now,  
But I'd be bereft of my brains if you hadn't been by!"  
"Where will you wander now? Surely Ekandor will return,"  
Veraka said, no small amount cross at the skirmish.  
"I was wondering if I could stay with you a while,  
For our mutual protection. I'm a mighty mage,  
I can fling fireballs that defy description!  
My name is Neera, now that we have a moment."  
Veraka said, "It seems you set sail by fortune,  
So in spirit of serendipity I set this stake:  
If my coin comes up tails you can come along,  
But on heads I will have the pouch you protect.  
What say you, wild woman?" She waited a while.  
"I was hoping you heroes would have me along,  
But I'm desperate enough to dare my destiny  
So fine, flip your coin, and we'll both be fools."  
Veraka took a copper coin she carried for flipping  
And let it fall flat for determining fate:  
The head of a highborn had heralded the choice  
Neera's gem pouch was plucked away as she pouted.  
"Well fine, I'm faring to the Friendly Arm Inn,  
If you churls change your minds I'll be marching there."  
Neera tore away hurting with a tear trembling in  
her eye.  
Imoen and Xzar awoke  
Cursing the careless spell  
Jaheira's frown bespoke  
Her thoughts only too well.

Veraka wanted an ale after the arduous adventure  
She chose the Jovial Juggler since she was a jester  
And after they'd all had some ale by the fire  
Some stories were swapped and tongues loosened.  
Jaheira pried, "Xzar, what patron or providence  
Has set you the same task we seek to resolve?  
I doubt mere mad meanderings moved you to make  
The task your own." He took a torpid breath,  
Then let loose this tale in lordly language:  
"Verily, from vaunted Veldorn my travel began,  
Land of loose lamias, Shangri-La of shoggoths,  
Where I found wondrous work from a wealthy white wyrm  
Who besought to build a temple from the bodies of bugbears.  
My task was trying, as too few were to hand  
To shore the western wall. And Winter was coming.  
So I traveled to take more bugbears for building,  
And a daft old diviner did promise me guidance  
To bugbears if I would but bring her some iron  
In no small total: two tons to be true.  
Ever since, I have sought some sincere iron  
To end my enlistment with the ignoble dragon."  
Veraka and Imoen gave girlish giggles  
While Khalid stared in disbelief at this silly story  
Jaheira just said, "Your jests do not jive here,  
I will be watching your worrisome hide."  
"Your voice is ambrosia," Xzar venerated and cavorted  
But Veraka became bothered by Jaheira's  
bossiness.  
Khalid said, "C-calm yourself."  
Jaheira glared most grim  
It seemed the two half-elves  
Held Xzar in view most dim.

"What of your tale, tart one?" Xzar tabled to Jaheira,  
"I still haven't heard who employs our hitched half-elves."  
"Better mind your own business if you know what's best,"  
Jaheira said warningly. Veraka wearily whispered,

"Could we please put our private matters aside and have fun?"  
Imoen said, "I agree! Hey Khalid, state your story.  
Don't fret the furtive facts, just tell us a tale."  
Khalid, looking lost, said, "I'm no j-j-jongleur,  
B-but I guess I could g-give a few facts to g-g-go on.  
I c-came from C-C-C-C-Ca-Calimshan,  
My father was a m-m-merchant and m-measured  
The value of a m-m-man b-by his m-mercantile merit  
My b-brothers were b-b-better at b-barter than me.  
So I t-trained to be t-tolerable at b-b-b-battle  
My t-trade was in blows, my b-barter for brawling.  
I'd rather not t-talk of that time any longer."  
Jaheira reached out and held his hand in hers,  
A comforting glance in her oft guarded gaze.  
"I'd say that your father failed to see the fine son  
You developed to be; the stutter is decidedly endearing,"  
Veraka said, smiling. Khalid blushed and stammered,  
"Th-th-thank you I think, that's not often the view."  
Jaheira stared at Veraka, studying her soberly;  
She hesitated to assume she had hit on her husband  
But she felt protective of her partner to prevent impure  
passion.  
Jaheira had grown jealous  
Possessive of Khalid  
It was most overzealous  
Her worry had no need.

Imoen now mentioned, "You're most masterful with morals,  
Tell a tale of trollops and plug-tails true, Veraka!"  
Khalid spit his ale suddenly, sending skyward saliva  
And showering Xzar in a sheen of libation  
In surprise at the salacious suggestion of story.  
"Fie on you, Veraka, for filling her head  
With the lewd licentiousness of libidinous lechers!"  
Jaheira shot sharply, more harsh than she meant.  
"I guess you don't jest or joke much, Jaheira,"  
Veraka fumed, a furrow forming on her forehead,  
"If you can't stand to journey with a jovial jester  
Perhaps we should part and our paths be made plain."  
Jaheira's face softened. "Child, I'm too quick to chide,  
Let's not chastise each other, don't change your choice.  
Gorion would want us to guard and guide you,  
My sting comes of too little sleep, slave-driver,"  
Jaheira made jest, her chagrin almost jaunty.  
"Then I'll wrangle some rooms that we all may rest,"  
Veraka sighed, stood and strode to the barman.  
"I only wanted to hear some hot humor 'bout harlots,"  
Imoen sulked as she sank in her seat,  
saddened.  
The tale of plug-tails true  
Would not be told that night  
Imoen did surely rue  
Jaheira's prudish bite.

Sleeping in to stock spells and restore their vigor,  
The five fit wayfarers fell upon a fine breakfast  
At first with few words, more foe than friend  
At last some lame banter began lifting the pall  
And Xzar fetched a few faint smiles from his frippery.  
When they dispensed with dining, they dared the road south  
As the need to reach Nashkel was noted by some  
But before they had been on the boulevard an hour  
They observed two ominous ogrillons occupying the road;  
They readied ranged weapons to repel the wretches.  
The first one fell not far from where they first saw it  
The two were easy targets, too large to take cover  
But the second charged forward and found the defenders  
A brief melee ensued; Veraka mauled the marauder  
With a strike of her greatsword, then Khalid swung sure  
Xzar finished the foe with some fell life drain spell.  
Veraka looted a lost letter one brute had stolen  
From a poor dead halfling laying prostrate on the pavement  
A husband had written his wife and hired help  
To send the small scroll to his Beregost residence  
Veraka could carry the courier's scroll  
Until she had time to take it in her travels.  
For now, the group gave a good burial to the halfling  
Then set out south to seek the sorrows of Nashkel's  
iron.  
The group did venture on  
Veraka kept the scroll  
Before they traveled long  
A man hailed them most cold.

He was suited in steel with a longsword and shield  
The crest of a red fist arrayed all around him  
His helm had a plume, as red as the rest  
And his first phrase was, "I'm from the Flaming Fist!"  
Jaheira said, "They're like the law of this land,  
I guess we can hearken." Veraka came forward  
To face the frowning fighter, ready for conflict.  
"Surrender yourselves, since you are the bandits  
Plaguing poor pilgrims and murdering merchants!"  
The man then demanded, his mien most malevolent.  
"You've got the wrong girls, and guys for that matter,  
We've done nothing dastardly," she diplomacized.  
"Why should I believe what a bandit bespeaks?"  
He bullied and blustered, still betting on blood.  
"Is it really so rare for right-meaning romantics  
To step the south street or seek some new sights?"  
Veraka put forth; her patience was passing.  
"If you'll prove your pure purpose I'll put this behind us,  
But I won't you leave till you fulfill my labor,"  
He said, and his sneer and scoff were derisive.  
Veraka said, "Gentle sir, a jovial jester  
Does address you this day, and I do offer proof.  
My craft takes considerable creativity  
So I'll put a proud poem to prove my point:  
There once was a Flaming Fist fighter  
Whose plug-tail was shaped like a miter  
The ladies would laugh  
Even trollops gave gaff  
When he-"  
"You despicable defilers die here!" He drew steel,  
And clashed in calamitous conflict to kill.  
He slashed a stout stroke in Veraka's side  
But the man was no match for a melee with five  
Death darkened his day for dealing in anger  
A blow to the bothersome but beautiful bard.  
Jaheira healed her wound as Xzar howled in heady  
triumph.  
Xzar stowed away the stiff  
So no stray folk would see  
They took his gear for gifts  
A jerk, they all agreed.

They later came to conflict with a crew of hobgoblins  
Some hours south on the same route to Nashkel  
They fought the fiends fearlessly and found modest loot  
Vying with villains and varmints most varied  
Until they encountered a conspicuous courtier  
The nonchalant noble stepped nearer nigh them  
And said, "Fine fellows, I am the Lord Foreshadow,  
I see by your ensemble you'll soon set a masquerade.  
I will seek out such sundries when next I attend  
Lord Ribald's full dress regalia party. I reckon  
I'd be the talk of Athkatla, to tell it true."  
Veraka laughed, "A fellow fool finds me today.  
Did Athkatla edify or enhance your excursions  
And will you be wandering there again well soon?"  
He scoffed, "A fellow fool, what the Hexxat mean?"  
He took his leave ill-tempered and trotted  
to town.  
"With a name like that you'd think  
He'd have some good to say,"  
Veraka smiled and winked,  
"Now let's be on our way."

At last the long journey had led them to Nashkel  
Soldiers swarmed the streets and stood at guard  
After bantering with Bardolan, burly bouncer by the bridge,  
The group gained access to the grit-coated town.  
They stopped by the store to sell and stock provisions  
And moseyed the main street till they met the mayor  
Who hailed them heartily and had these words:  
"Hail bold blades, I am Berrun Ghastkill, Mayor of Nashkel,  
And I seek sturdy swordarms to settle our sorrows.  
I'm curious how Jaheira and Xzar came to call  
The same party their purpose, but I'm pleased for your help."  
"An iron maiden was involved," Xzar muttered in madness.  
"If you help us to heal the hardships with haste,  
I'd be glad and most gracious, gifts would be given,"  
The mayor made promise. Veraka asked him,  
"What's the trouble to tell true? I'm told that the iron  
Is rotten, but the rumors are rampant and ruin the truth."  
He sighed, "The mine is most malignant to men,  
There is death and despair in the darkness below.  
What iron we work is worthless and brittle  
And the sad supply slows, our city is somber."  
Veraka replied, "We'll reclaim the iron and reach the  
reason."  
Berrun said, "If you help,  
You'll be the toast of the town."  
Veraka was no whelp  
She would not let him down.

As they pursued the path that was placed by Fate  
They met a mighty man in the middle of town  
His body was built like the bear or bison  
A doughtier daredevil one would not deem to find  
Scars snaked on his skin like the wandering streams  
And his grin grew greatly when he glanced at the group.  
"Stand and deliver, that my hamster shall see you,"  
He said in stentorian stoutness. Veraka said,  
"Has your hamster the wisdom to see our hearts?"  
"Boo is my boon companion, and born of the stars,"  
The man mentioned proudly. Xzar was merry with mirth.  
"And what does a wanderer and his wise rodent want?"  
Veraka smiled, musing the mind of this man.  
"My witch was waylaid when I suffered a h-head wound,  
And now mighty Minsc must needs mete out some mule-kicks!  
What say you, strong soldiers? Shall we save my Dynaheir  
In her hour of need from nasty gnolls to the west?"  
His enthusiasm enthralled Veraka entirely,  
So she said, "Noble Minsc, I say with certainty  
We will find your witch Dynaheir in the wink of an eye."  
"Good! We must go and give gripes, tarry not!"  
Minsc smiled and stood at Veraka's side.  
Jaheira and Xzar deemed this dalliance a  
delay.  
Minsc was a mighty man;  
Evil, for him, made way.  
This sudden change of plan  
Did not sit well that day.

Xzar said, "It seems you seek to strain the spellcasters,  
We must rest to recover our rituals and energy."  
Jaheira interrupted, "It is far more important  
That we move on to the mines as the mayor wishes.  
If you want we can win back our witchcraft and wizardry  
One night at the inn, but no more, we need to know  
The cause of the chaos confounding the Sword Coast,  
Letting brigands be bold in their banditry of iron  
And making misery for the miners of Nashkel."  
Minsc said, "Dynaheir could be dead within days!  
Now some gnolls need their heads knocked  
To learn some life lessons and leave alone ladies.  
Come miss, we must go make malice in the mountains  
For butts to be kicked and boasts made bona fide."  
Veraka said, "We will settle our course when the sun  
Has risen. Truth is revealed to a rested mind."  
Though given to grumbling the group did gather  
To seek some sleep, for spells and steady wits  
But it was not to be, for a bold bounty hunter  
Came across Veraka's companions and was content  
to kill.  
Inside the inn they found  
A woman set to strike.  
"I'll slit your throats like hounds,  
Though its unladylike."

Veraka said, "Wait, I will want your name:  
Latest on the list of lurking lowlifes laid low."  
The woman snorted, "My name is Neira, not that it matters,  
I've come to claim the kill and collect my coin."  
Veraka said, "Neera? It seems certainly strange  
I might meet more Neeras in my brief meanderings.  
Is Neera a name more known near Nashkel,  
Or is it my luck I'm left with loud cloying ladies?"  
"Knotbrain, my name is Neira, not Neera!  
The vowel is voiced less vociferously  
And an I precedes the R, any amateur's aural  
Ability should discern the slight switch in sound.  
I wouldn't want one to think I was that wild mage!"  
"So you've met her? I must say I mistook her for you  
In our meeting; I made mention of a mewling mite  
Noted only for nagging and nitwittedness named Neira  
But it soon became blatant she was too brave and beautiful  
To be the pitiful and powerless patsy oft portrayed  
In the tales of transients and stories of strumpets."  
"Liar! I'd lop your limbs for that slander,  
Even if the contract to kill you was canceled!"  
Neira fumed, and her fury began forming into  
a spell.  
The battle then was joined  
They leapt into the fray  
Neira would gain no coin  
Veraka claimed the day.


	2. Part 2

Part 2

The inn's patrons stood paralyzed in panic and pathos  
As Veraka searched the stiff and secured a scroll  
Another bounty had been offered on the brash girl's body  
Veraka sighed; it seemed spies sought her silence each second.  
The well-worn warriors made way to their rooms  
And settled down to sleep to ease their sore muscles.  
Veraka did dream, but it did not delight her:  
She saw cloistered Candlekeep close her off completely  
And turned to the timberland she must now traverse.  
Grave Gorion's pale ghost signed to go towards the grove  
As if the dark wood were a welcome way to wander  
But an easier path presented pure power  
A trail tailored to her blood, a tempting overture;  
She stood for a moment to study her selection.  
The trail seemed too easy, she trusted to the truth  
That life was ludicrous and lacked logic or laws  
So the thorny thicket's unthinking bedlam appealed  
More than a fated furrow fringed in foulness;  
She turned away from the troubled tempting trail  
And gave Gorion's ghost a glimmer of hope  
that night.  
But even as she woke,  
She felt herself be spurned  
A voice unknown had spoke  
It just said, "You will learn!"

The voice rang in her ears as she roused rife with fear  
Lingering long after she lay wakeful at dawn  
She felt a fickle force untapped in her form:  
Some new power was present. Perplexed and perturbed,  
Veraka tested the new trick to see the truth  
And cold confusion came when a surge of curing  
Came upon her: not unlike a cleric's consecration,  
But she did not draw a deity's divine dedication  
It flowed crisp and cold and came from within.  
She thought perhaps the power came parallel with spells  
For at last her studies with Xzar showed promise:  
She made Larloch's Minor Drain rest in memory  
To show the nutty necromancer she knew how to cast.  
The new cure was curious though, its cause unknown  
No prayers or tome perusal had picked up the power  
she felt.  
Veraka's blood had bade  
But she had then refused  
The power yet had stayed  
The energy was reused.

She readied herself and relinquished the room  
Breakfast had began with biscuits and bacon,  
Cornbread and beer, and Jaheira found berries  
A strange banquet to bolster the bold heroes for battle  
As they ate, all eyes asked for Veraka's aim  
Whether they might meet the mines or make for Dynaheir.  
Veraka spoke seldom as she ate and studied  
So Minsc said, "Xzar, sing a story for stout soldiers  
Or tell a tale of trying times and damsels with daring!"  
Xzar arched his posture primly like unto a peacock  
And deeply did he breathe before delving into song:  
"Half a pound of tuppenny rice,  
Half a pound of treacle.  
That's the way the money goes,  
POP! goes the weasel."  
Minsc smiled and sang along in sonorous strife  
While the others all groaned and gritted grim teeth;  
Veraka just smiled as she sat and sampled breakfast,  
Her jackanapes comrades revived the jovial jester  
And soon she stood singing some sordid story  
Caught from a cook she knew in Candlekeep  
And the Amnish soldiers and patrons applauded.  
Jaheira slipped a wry smile from her stoic expression  
Khalid calmly chuckled and came back with seconds,  
Seeing that breakfast would be their big meal  
that day.  
The heroes had their fun,  
But soon came time to talk.  
Veraka's song was done,  
She picked which path to walk.

Veraka said, "Now, noble nonpareils, I need to choose  
Our course, and both causes can be called worthy.  
So I've studied the matter and seen fit to say  
That Dynaheir's detainment does ring of dire need  
While the mischief at the mines may wait a bit more.  
What say you, friends?" Veraka awaited their words.  
"Minsc and Boo be pleased, butts will be liberally kicked!"  
Minsc made clear his most martial intent.  
"Since we've spoken to the simpleton mayor, it seems fine,"  
Xzar said, pleased to perceive Jaheira's provoked posture.  
"Well our ways will part here, you're a ward no longer;  
Gorion gave all a father could give daughter  
But fate is yours to find, however fickle it may be  
So work your will woman, and weather adventures  
Perhaps our paths will cross again in this predicament,"  
Jaheira said stiffly. Khalid spoken then, "Veraka,  
Our b-b-b-best wishes I now betide you,  
I w-wish we could w-wander but our course is h-here.  
I hope to s-see you someday s-s-soon, fare thee well."  
Veraka held Khalid in a hug to his surprise  
And Jaheira gave an unconscious glare at the girl  
now grown.  
The half-elves parted ways,  
Veraka was sad at heart.  
"Let us not then waste the day!"  
Minsc made ready to start.

As they sought the south bridge to seek the stronghold  
Of gnolls, where Dynaheir was detained in distress  
They noticed a red-robed man reacted to their rambling  
And kept a wide berth of the bold combatants  
Muttering most incessantly his mind's many thoughts.  
Xzar called to him tritely, "Et tu, Brute?"  
The man muttered, "The mongrels see me, I must now away,  
Before the brutes begin asking questions and bore me."  
Minsc stared with suspicion at the strange sorcerer  
But shrugged and pushed on when he shrank away further.  
As they strode through the farmlands supplying Nashkel  
Xzar shouted, "A moment! My mind's eye makes clear  
A furrow to find in a field not far from us  
Where we will find welcome treasure for warriors."  
Veraka and Minsc met eyes and shrugged mildly,  
Following the foolish necromancer to find his furrow.  
Yet sure enough, Xzar yanked past some yarrow roots  
And caught up a cache slightly clipped by a plough  
Green-plated armor gave gasps of delight  
To those who saw it sheen in the striking sunlight.  
"Ankheg armor! Does anyone know aught were it came?"  
Veraka asked, viewing the vibrant armor's verdure.  
"From an ankheg no doubt," Minsc duly did offer.  
Xzar giggled, "My girl, 'tis a gift from the gods."  
They decided that Minsc should don the dread armor  
As Xzar must have mobility to muster his magic,  
And Veraka felt the flexibility of chain fit for fighting:  
It was simpler to strip off for slinging some spells,  
she said.  
Now armored in better ways,  
They sought gnolls to the west.  
Xzar's gift of sight was praised,  
He gibbered in protest.

Imoen had been somber and sullen for days  
Denied her tale of trollops and plug-tails true  
So she sulked and said little, stomping without stealth  
Until Veraka eventually viewed Imoen's vexation.  
"Imoen, what ill now impairs your innocence?  
Are you troubled by our troupe taking leave of others?"  
Imoen quipped, "How queer that the queen should notice  
Her subject seems sad, I am surely honored."  
"Oh, knock it off knucklehead," Veraka said not unkindly,  
"Tell me your troubles or I'll tickle them out of you!"  
"Okay, okay, I'll obey your orders Overseer.  
I'm not sad to see Jaheira scarce, really,  
Since she stopped my favorite story and seemed so bossy.  
I'm worried we won't have enough warriors though,  
And I miss ol' Puffguts, all the people and places  
In Candlekeep, honestly. It's hard to be here,  
And I wanted a story so I'd be less scared and  
homesick."  
Veraka's eyes were wet  
At Imoen's admission.  
She said, "I think we'll get  
A timely intermission."

Veraka held Imoen in a sisterly hug,  
And said, "How about we all hear a happy tale  
To keep company as we cover more ground for our quest?"  
Minsc said, "Play on bard, our party will prepare  
For gnoll knocking with tales of knights and hamsters!"  
Xzar took a bold breath and looked ready to begin,  
Till Imoen poked him, and the prod parted his puffed air.  
"Let Veraka tell it!" she scolded the star-crazed spellcaster.  
Smiling, Veraka set the story here said:  
"To Candlekeep came curmudgeons three,  
Cranky codgers all with carnal cravings  
But ill luck was their lot when their lecherous view  
Fell on Phlydia the Forgetful's fair hue.  
The first of these men came to court her with care,  
Yet it seemed she forgot the poor sot was there  
With lust he loaned the lady his hotel room key  
But soon she misplaced it at the foot of a tree.  
Old Puffguts the proprietor said, 'Best find it soon,'  
And the geezer searched still when ascended the moon.  
The second old man seemed to think himself clever  
When he wrote the rare lady a revealing letter  
Telling temptations distasteful in full  
But it slipped from her sash when she sashayed past Hull.  
Hull was a keep Watcher too fond of white wine  
A bit of a bully and bored all the time  
When he nosed through the note he gave a nasty laugh  
And made for the inn where the man made his gaff.  
The man waited for Phlydia, hoping to feel her fine form  
But in burst Hull like a bat from a storm  
He pulled out the parchment from a belt-pouch's place  
And fear framed itself on the fervid fool's face  
Hull jaunted and jeered like the jerk that he was  
And read the ribald letter to the room, just because.  
The curmudgeon was cast from the room with clear cries  
And he slunk off to sleep near the cows and the sty  
His face red with rage as Phlydia rambled by  
Yet she never noticed, a novel needed her eyes.  
The third codger was crafty and crept towards her room  
Wanting to woo her with a window-ledge tune  
So the man waited merrily with his mandolin  
Till he heard the hard footsteps of the woman within  
So he smiled as she entered, made ready to sing  
But her nose was in a novel; she didn't notice a thing.  
She said to herself, "It seems there's a draft,"  
The man at the shutters thought she surely was daft  
So she walked to the window and whipped it down closed  
Direct on the bridge of his bombastic nose  
He gave a foul yell as he fell from the ledge  
His fall had been broken by a rosebush hedge.  
So as to a moral, my friends, I suppose  
That to love the oblivious is like landing on a rose."  
The adventurers laughed long and loud at the story,  
And tears trickled down Imoen's cheeks; truly  
As much from merriment as memory  
of home.  
Veraka told her tale  
Such was the heroes' laughter  
That all about the vale  
It echoed moments after.

Imoen had improved, her impishness returning,  
So they strolled through the stout stands of trees southward  
Intending to cut west across the wilds with haste  
To find a route not overrun with rivers and ridges.  
They fought bears and xvarts, brigands and beasts  
Till a sight wondrous strange struck them all still:  
A dryad most beauteous and buxom besought them  
Hailing the heroes in haste with her plea:  
"Please warriors, a wondrous ancient oak will be whittled  
Unless the loutish lumberjacks can be led away!"  
"These brutes need bold answers, and my blade is the question!"  
Minsc made ready for melee and looked to Veraka.  
"The tree acts as phylactery for the fine-formed fey,"  
Xzar mused and muttered, "I must try it sometime."  
Veraka said, "We'll win over these warriors, worry not.  
I'll make sure the men do not mar your old oak."  
The dryad said, "Thank you, for though they're thick-witted,  
They still could cause harm or even kill me."  
Imoen whistled, "Gosh, that's one gorgeous girl,  
She almost vies with Veraka, that's verily rare."  
The group girded for gashes and found two men ahead  
Strapped for strife, but struggling to string a  
sentence.  
The two were short on wits,  
But not too short on brawn.  
Veraka said, "I'll pit  
These men against my song."

Veraka stepped forward while Minsc followed fast  
And Imoen and Xzar rallied at range, ready,  
So she spoke to the simpleton who seemed the smarter  
And said, "Sir, what seems to bring strangers here?"  
The cad drawled, "My name's Caldo, this is my brother Krum,  
We found us a treasure I figger for sure!  
That there tree 's got magic, so we thwack it down  
And get the gold gath'rin inside, that's the plan."  
Veraka stared at their stupidity in some disbelief,  
But recovered and replied, "A most rousing plan!  
Come dance with me darlings, to dedicate the deed  
While I sing celebration and soon rich we'll be!"  
"Derrr, dance?" Krum asked in a dubious drawl,  
And Caldo said, "Okay, we c'n cut a rug can't we?"  
Veraka began cavorting and capering madly  
And the two tried to follow the tricky jester.  
"Oh Willow, my wanderer, lend me your wand  
Let's put politicians to work in the pond.  
Old Oak and Old Crone, come caper with me,  
Make merry these men and their madness be free!"  
Veraka sang a spellsong, the secret of jesters,  
And Caldo and Krum came to calamitous confusion.  
Dizzy with dancing, Caldo dealt Krum a decking  
And Krum came about and cracked Caldo's ribcage  
They wandered off whirling then wheeled in again  
And grabbed in a grapple like gamboling partners  
Bucking and biting as the bard bade them on.  
"What's happening?!" wailed Caldo and ran off wincing,  
As Krum clomped after him, kicking and clawing.  
Caldo came about addled and unsure of direction  
And in synchronous strife their struggle did cease  
When the two knocked noggins in nearly waltz-time  
And fell mercifully unconscious. Veraka cackled at Caldo,  
And swiftly stole supplies so the two would not trouble  
The dryad, or any other travelers they dared delay.  
Her companions watched in wonder and worry,  
wide-eyed.  
Veraka's secret store  
Of power then was shown.  
She tapped her ancient lore,  
Her foes did snore and moan.

The dryad said, "Damsel, you disport the old magic,  
I thought none of mortal number knew such secrets.  
How is it a human holds the magic of the heart?"  
Veraka said, "Verily, a bard's mind is a vault  
Filled to overflowing with facts and frippery,  
But a jester's true talents are tacit, not taught,  
To say more would sound silly, I can't explain further."  
The dryad smiled and said, "No need for such as I.  
The Seelie would swoon for such skill as yours  
But all I can confer is a cordial against poison.  
What moniker shall I remember my mortal heroine by?"  
"Veraka Cursebringer is my name, kind caretaker,  
These woods will be safe while I watch them, I warrant."  
Minsc said, "Twice true for me, and triple for Boo!"  
Imoen smiled, "Good on you girl, give it your best!"  
The heroes turned then to talk with the dryad  
But she stepped into the stout oak and secluded herself.  
A potion to purify poison was presented on a rock  
Veraka took the flask and their trek towards the gnolls  
went on.  
The dryad was impressed  
With the jester's jaunty power.  
She took some time to rest  
Within her leafy bower.

They dragged away Caldo and Krumm to a cave  
Where they slept in seclusion in their unconscious state  
After fending off wolves duly dire and dreadful  
They came across coins and a magical halberd  
Within the hollow halls of that hale cavern,  
Treasure from a time too old to remember.  
They walked past a waterfall, wild and wondrous,  
And fought a white wolf who wielded the frost  
It spat snowy ice from its mouth at Veraka  
But the belt she had gotten from Gorion did grant  
Protection from the power of the polar peril.  
The beast was soon stopped by arrows and spells  
And they took its pelt: a wintry white and warm when fashioned.  
They continued on their quest, skirting around cliffs  
Yet soon could not ignore a need nearby,  
The sound of a solitary soul: somewhere close a girl was  
crying.  
Minsc said, "We must give aid!"  
Xzar said, "Let's give sharp shins!"  
Veraka made her way  
Along the cliff's cruel bends.

The group found a girl who was given to sobbing  
Sitting on the cliff trail in somber solitude  
Veraka said, "My, what a lovely little lady  
To be troubled and travailed. What's your name, dear?"  
The girl sniffed, "Drienne, but my cat slipped and skittered,  
Falling over the waterfall. Could you find Pixie please?"  
"Of course I can, Drienne," Veraka said calmingly,  
"We'll be back with Pixie before you know it."  
Imoen said, "Drienne, it's dangerous to dare here,  
Why don't you play where it's less wild and steep?"  
"Like the roof of the inn?" Veraka prodded Imoen's ribs.  
"That was different, there weren't wolves and waterfalls there,"  
Imoen muttered, and made a mischievous mean face.  
"Different indeed," Veraka said sadly, downcast as she thought  
Of her hearth and home, and how Gorion would not be there.  
Imoen's expression changed instantly from impishness  
And she seemed like a sister as she spoke solemnly,  
"We'll make it Veraka. It might be melancholy,  
But my beautiful big sister is a bard after all.  
This isn't the way we wanted to adventure,  
But we'll make the best of these buffleheads yet."  
Veraka sadly smiled and held her in a hug,  
And said to Drienne, "Yes, we'll seek for some sign  
Of Pixie." Then the party paced to the waterfall's bottom,  
While Xzar rambled and raved of rabbit-footed dragons.  
At the bottom they beheld the body of a cat,  
Poor Pixie had perished in her plummet to earth.  
Veraka grimly gathered up the gray tabby cat  
And returned up the ridge to reach young Drienne.  
Drienne came crying when she collected her cat,  
And Veraka spoke thus to the sad struggling girl:  
"Drienne, you must know now that death does come,  
A part of the path we all walk in this place.  
You should seek to accept that some things make no sense,  
For life defies logic, all things fade at the last."  
Strangely, Drienne did not draw back at her words;  
She replied, "You're right, every time daddy raises her  
She seems to get sicker and struggles so much.  
Maybe this time I'll tell him to bury her;  
Here, have this scroll for hauling her back."  
Drienne gave Veraka a goodly gift goodbye,  
And made her way meetly along meandering cliffs  
towards home.  
Minsc said, "This is so sad,  
That Boo may surely cry!"  
Veraka said, "My lad,  
Your witch is nearly nigh."

Minsc said, "By Boo, I believe you are right!  
Let us loiter no longer, there's a lady to save!"  
They traversed across trackless lands till they came  
In sight of a bridge crossing a cruel crevasse  
Into a land crammed with caverns and crags,  
And they saw at some distance the Gnoll Stronghold  
A fortress so ancient it was forgotten, or feared,  
Built by hands unknown and betraying no secrets.  
Minsc was willing to walk on despite his weariness  
But the journey had been injurious, so the jester decided  
To call camp for the night; the companions did not complain.  
As they eased aching feet and unfit armor's friction,  
Imoen said, "Hey Minsc, you haven't made mention  
Of your own story yet, so why don't you yammer?"  
Minsc said, "I see not how yams suit a story,  
But you shall behold some butt-kicking through words!  
I was raised in Rasheman to learn the ways of rage  
To become a brave berserker of the Ice Dragon lodge.  
Some have said I sought too much to champion nature,  
And truly I resemble a ranger more rightly,  
But I learned to be berserk nevertheless! Right, Boo?  
Still, they called into question my curious credo,  
And duly did ask I perform my dajemma  
A ritual passage from boy to bold berserker.  
I was granted a gift, the honor of guarding  
My witch, a wondrous Wychlaran of Rasheman,  
You do know as Dynaheir. We did travel daily,  
To what purpose I know not, but plain pure adventure!  
In an ancient stone shrine most slathered in sigils  
We beheld the bold Boo, born of the stars,  
A miniature giant space hamster stood on the stone,  
And spoke to me of-" Boo squeaked, and Minsc did stop.  
"Are you certain? Yes Boo, but I... yes, I am sorry.  
Boo does not wish to discuss his details too much  
So suffice to say simply, he joined my struggle.  
I've had a few h-head wounds on this hazardous trek  
But none worse than the one when Dynaheir was taken.  
Gnolls came in the night and knocked me unconscious  
And stole away Dynaheir! Ever since I have sought  
To bash in their brains till they behave better.  
Now we are nearly there, let's not tarry longer!"  
Minsc said, but a yawn slipped out, staving off sleep.  
"No Minsc, with no healer to have our health steady,  
We will need all our wits to weather this task,"  
Veraka replied readily. Imoen sighed in relief and  
laid down.  
The companions took their rest,  
For mortal maidens need sleep.  
That night was surely blest,  
No foes disturbed their keep.

In earliest morning after a cold meager meal,  
They made for the mountains with Minsc at the lead.  
They crossed the creaking bridge over a cruel chasm  
But two ogre-kin trod out to take a bridge toll.  
The ogres were willing to speak of their wants,  
But the party apparently sought no parley  
For they answered with arrows the approach of ogres.  
The first one fell far before he could reach them,  
But the second came swinging his sword with strength  
The blow bounced away from bold Minsc's new armor  
And Minsc made return a most dolorous melee  
Lopping limbs like a lumberjack until he laid low  
The ogres overseeing the old bridge crossing.  
Taking their two-handed swords to hand,  
Minsc and Veraka grinned in great fun at the group  
Before bringing the battle boldly before the gnolls.  
Xzar declared, "I am become Death, Destroyer of Worlds!"  
And ran to remain near the rigorous raiders.  
Imoen seemed scared but soldiered on stoically  
Determined to prove she could dare the dire deed.  
They stormed up the slopes with Minsc slashing sure  
Cutting down gnoll defenders and dealing out death  
As Xzar slung spells and Imoen sniped stragglers.  
Tymora smiled upon them: so far they had surprise,  
A few paltry patrols had pestered them to this point.  
They came across allies of the gnolls at a crest,  
Blue-skinned little bullies known abroad as xvarts  
Who swarmed in with shortswords seeking for slaughter;  
The heroes had them handled with a few hard hacks.  
The ranger Minsc rallied them to regroup for respite  
At the foot of a stair that sought the source of their struggle.  
"I will walk up first to weather the worst attacks,  
Step lively to lend aid and lash them, my lady!"  
Minsc said. Veraka nodded, "It needs no amendment."  
So Minsc stepped up the stairs and soon violent struggle  
began.  
The first few fell with ease,  
The heroes became heady.  
Minsc was most surely pleased,  
And strutted on most steady.

Now came they to a strange courtyard covered in chasms,  
Round pits in the pavement for people to be imprisoned  
But new gnolls now neared them, gnashing and nasty,  
Elite looters and villains their lord Yeenoghu would laud.  
The raiders rushed past the front rank of the heroes,  
And sought to slaughter some less armored and stalwart.  
Xzar and Imoen managed to mow down a marauder  
Struck with arrows and spells till he slumped over slackly  
But another beset them after breaching the brave battlers  
And Imoen swung her shortsword while Xzar stabbed his dagger.  
Veraka and Minsc were waylaid with wicked warriors,  
And came carving a path to contribute some cover  
But before they could bring battle, Imoen took a hard blow:  
The gnoll's halberd had hit and her heart's blood flowed.  
Veraka rushed forward with a roar of rage resounding  
And pulped the peccant gnoll into pieces which plastered  
The palisades and parapets of that perilous rampart.  
"I feel so cold," Imoen shivered and shuddered as she bled.  
Veraka called upon the curing she could not explain,  
And touched the torn wound that troubled Imoen's shoulder.  
With wonder, Imoen gasped as she was made whole;  
Giving a guilty glance, Veraka got back to carnage.  
Now the gnolls' tribal chieftain came to clash in contention  
With the best bringers of bloodshed his brutes could offer,  
And Minsc made mighty melee with the murderous gnolls  
Dealing out dread blows and taking dents in return  
The heroes were hard pressed, Xzar slung his last spell  
And stepped forth with his dagger, daring the dire fight  
Bolstered by bleeding off his enemies' essence.  
Imoen stood well back, but her bow drew gnoll blood  
And Veraka fought fiercely at Minsc's side, finding flaws  
In the fighter's defenses, and the gnolls began falling.  
Minsc stepped in to struggle against the gnoll chieftain  
And swung his sword so soundly that Tempus did pause,  
And smile to see the blow struck to save Dynaheir,  
Shattering his sword and the gnoll chief's skeleton.  
Blood-soaked in sanguine success and sore won,  
The heroes heaved hard and held up a moment  
For the warriors all carried wounds that would scar.  
Minsc alone made inspection of each pit meetly,  
Till he discovered with joy that Dynaheir was not dead  
below.  
He strode the steep steps down  
Into the foul gnolls' pit.  
A lady came soon around,  
In feature and form most fit.

The Wychlaran witch made her way from the pit,  
As Minsc helped her navigate the harrowing steps  
And soon all could see the serious sorceress Dynaheir.  
It was clear from her countenance and candor 'twas a lady  
Of no small knowledge, nubile and Nubian.  
Despite her detainment, the gnolls did not defile her  
So she seemed slightly cleaner, not soaked in blood at least.  
She spoke in a rich accent, understated yet strong:  
"I thank thee for my freedom, thou art refreshing  
When so many we meet can be most... lacking."  
Veraka was wiping off the worst gore with a loincloth  
She had snatched from a scoundrel; self-consciously she said,  
"Um, you're welcome. So, you're a Wychlaran witch, right?"  
"I see Minsc has made mention of many of my details,"  
Dynaheir said coolly; Minsc was cowed with a creeping blush.  
"But Dynaheir, I did not tell them what we do here;  
In fairness, even Boo has not ferretted out the facts!"  
Minsc protested. Dynaheir replied, "I am perturbed  
Thou wouldst risk well-kept secrets for want of curiosity!  
However, thou hast my thanks for helping me here,  
I am Dynaheir of Rasheman." Her bearing was regal.  
"Veraka Cursebringer of Candlekeep," she curtseyed,  
And Imoen giggled at the gesture grimed with gore.  
"Cursebringer? A most maleficent moniker for maidens,  
Though I imagine it might menace foes in mercenary work.  
How much did Minsc offer to merit thy might?"  
Dynaheir asked. Imoen boggled in blatant disbelief.  
"He said you'd supply 500 gold pieces to your saviors,"  
Xzar spoke up suddenly, and Minsc spluttered in outrage.  
"These are no base bruisers who battled to save you!  
We came when Minsc called for combatants on his quest  
For no finer reason than to free you and find glory,"  
Veraka ventured; verily, the vixen was vexed.  
"It is true, Dynaheir, you'd do no better with Ice Dragons,  
They be bold as berserkers and belong at our side!"  
Minsc said with worry, wanting both women pleased.  
"I am sorry, it seems I was hasty to judge thee.  
Minsc has mentioned thy merit most highly Veraka,  
I fear thou hast found me ill-tempered from gnolls,  
And parted from my possessions; truly, I am pleased  
To hail hearty heroes and have my freedom,"  
Dynaheir apologized politely to the party.  
"Very well, the more the merrier, right Minsc?"  
Veraka said, though the slights of Dynaheir  
still stung.  
They took up treasured baubles  
The gnolls pillaged and plundered.  
The group balance had wobbled  
From Dynaheir's catty blunder.

They made way past marauders, more gnoll patrols,  
Dynaheir borrowed a sling and shot stones, since spells  
Would elude her till she wakened with spellbook in hand;  
The only possession not pitched by pernicious gnolls.  
Veraka became curious about the caverns and crags  
That littered the lands which lay near the stronghold  
So she led them around ledges and lingered in valleys  
And they fought the foul xvarts that infested the cliffs.  
Finally they found a treasure in a foul-smelling cavern,  
A tome truly tempting but dangerous to take in  
Without being aware of what words it may hold.  
Veraka said, "I'll identify this item in the morning,  
We can camp in a cave till the sun clears the horizon."  
"It seems it must be so, darkness falls," Dynaheir said.  
The group gathered their gear and got a fire going,  
Soon supper was served, simple stew and some rations  
And wounds were rebound by battle-wise warriors.  
Soon Imoen was settled in, and said with a smile,  
"Hey Dynaheir, why don't you dazzle us with your story?  
I've heard everyone here once except you, let's have it!"  
"I'm afraid I am sworn to secrecy, I'm sorry,  
I cannot recount in full candor my tale.  
Suffice to say simply that the Sword Coast has need  
Of my sect, and some strange sights will soon  
be seen."  
Imoen then huffed and held  
Her lips pursed in a pout.  
Dynaheir smirked but withheld;  
No secrets were given out.

Veraka said, "Enough secrets! It seems all I meet  
Are part of some sect or a clandestine cult.  
Normally I'm content to live and let live,  
But such covert companions keep me confused!  
I feel like a blind hamster bumbling with birds of prey."  
"We are no birds surely, but hamsters of high honor!  
We give guidance until you may get cured of blindness  
And fend off foul birds with our ferocious little fangs!"  
Minsc made quick reply, and Veraka smiled at him.  
"Well you know me V'aka, no nuances here,  
If I did have dark secrets you'd delve 'em right out!  
I may as well be your sister, so sincerely you know me,"  
Imoen said seriously, and Veraka clasped her shoulder.  
Xzar sighed, "Oh very well, this warrants one telling,  
But trouble me not trollops, to tell more than this!  
Know now that I represent a merchant consortium,  
Who are not responsible for riling this region  
But wish to investigate what willpower ruins iron  
And avert all false blame to the appropriate agents."  
They all stood in surprise that Xzar spoke so clearly,  
Then Veraka said, "I believe you, you belong at my back."  
They turned then to Dynaheir, who frowned at this test  
of truth.  
The witch then cleared her throat,  
And made ready to speak.  
Xzar got ready to gloat  
If her tale refused to leak.

Dynaheir spoke, "Thou must understand my mind,  
It is strange to seek answers so far from my home.  
I am used to tasking others rather than taking orders,  
For the Wychlaran witches are word of law in Rasheman.  
I was approached by an othlor, a true one of my order,  
And tasked to tend the troubles to come on this coast.  
A prophecy presides here that could put the world in peril,  
Speaking of the spawn of a slain god, it seems.  
I dare not say more, lest my mouth be made silent;  
It is dangerous to delve deep in this dread subject."  
Minsc said, "Most revered Dynaheir, you do honor us this day  
To speak your secret knowledge to we so undeserving."  
Veraka raised her eyebrow as she read Minsc's expression:  
He seemed a different person in the presence of her, plainly.  
Veraka disliked Dynaheir, yet could not now deny  
She had spoken of her secrets, so she sighed and said,  
"I was leaving my home, the largest library Candlekeep,  
For my foster father Gorion feared we were in danger.  
I have since been pursued by strange assassins at each step  
And sliding into struggles that seem insignificant  
Compared to losing my beloved father. Yet I could not last  
Alone in this land without friends to lend aid,  
So such is the story of a saddened jester."  
Veraka looked around and was reassured readily:  
Imoen had a hug for her before she had finished,  
And Minsc made a vow to avenge Veraka's father.  
Xzar said, "I'll strip the souls of these savages for you,  
So they cannot come back to try killing twice.  
Their bodies could serve as skeletons, if you so wish."  
The others were aghast at this grim offer given,  
Though Veraka considered it carefully a moment.  
Dynaheir said, "It seems we all seek similar ends,  
Or may yet come across what we need with this crew."  
Veraka nodded, "It needs no amendment for now,  
Let us rest and recover for our return to Nashkel."  
They bedded down and began taking watch against  
bandits.  
The night began most calm,  
Till thunder and wind did wrack.  
It seemed they'd have no balm  
To start the journey back.

They weathered the storm in the cold cliff cavern,  
Taking turns at watch till it came time to travel.  
In the darkest night hours there did approach deviants,  
Xvarts stepped stealthily seeking their vengeance  
Against the heroes who had hewn their comrades.  
It was Minsc's turn at watch, but the man's merit at this  
Was sketchy, his sight and perception sore lacking,  
And he nearly nodded off as the night wore on.  
The xvarts slipped in, not disturbing the sentry,  
Until a troubling troupe hemmed in to take lives.  
At the last moment before they were most all murdered,  
Minsc saw a flash of steel as lightning struck outside  
And roared warning to wake the warriors within.  
It was complete chaos as they clashed in the darkness,  
The humans could hardly see their hateful foes  
So Imoen set about striking up a torch  
While the others were contending with xvarts in the blackness.  
As Imoen at last shed light to lend aid,  
A startled scream struck them all silent a second  
Dynaheir had been flailing with her fists forlornly  
But they saw she was run through by a xvart shortsword  
And fell dead so fast they could scarcely fathom it.  
Minsc cried out despairingly, "Dynaheir, NOOOOOO!  
You will be avenged!" Lightning flashed on his fierce face,  
And all who saw him took two steps back  
For he was ranger no more, but a bloody berserker.  
He was heedless to all, and had no sense to tell  
Friend from foe, so they fell further back in the cave.  
Minsc's sword had shattered slaying the gnoll chief,  
But his fists were sufficient to flatten his foes  
So the pugilist pounded the perpetrators soundly.  
When all had fallen, the fury was still fixed in his eye  
And Minsc turned in murderous wrath to meet  
his friends.  
Veraka came forth then  
And said, "You've slain the xvarts!  
Remember we're you're friends?"  
But rage still held his heart.

They did not wish to wound the brave warrior Minsc,  
Nor were they well able: Xzar still lacked sleep for spells,  
And Imoen mutely watched Minsc as she held the torch;  
She was not strong of limb and her bow was unstrung.  
It was clear that Veraka must vie with vim and verve  
If she was to save Minsc's life, and themselves,  
So she rushed forward in struggle with the savage brute  
The girl in grim grapple with the great guardian Minsc.  
Her muscle was no match for the might of Minsc plainly,  
But the bard was both strong and slippery to beat  
She trusted to luck and her lissome elusiveness  
As she wriggled and writhed against his wrath.  
Imoen and Xzar stared at the sight standing before them,  
As though two titans clashed in tumultuous struggle  
Backlit by lightning and the lurid torchlight  
As they flailed into walls and fought on the floor,  
Minsc's face twisted terribly and terrified Imoen.  
They rolled from the cave and came clashing on the cliff,  
One misstep in their struggle would send them to death  
But the pugilists were prone, and Veraka was pinned  
Minsc caught her at last and clamped down crushingly.  
Veraka faced fear and fatality in full fairness,  
Glad she gave Imoen and Xzar a gamble at life  
And maybe Minsc too; she smiled a moment  
And Minsc hesitated, his haymaker halted.  
Echoing across the cliffs came a voice,  
Soft in the storm but still surely heard.  
"Calm thyself, Minsc," a serene spirit said,  
And for a second the strugglers saw her in the rain,  
The departed Dynaheir did flicker in the lightning,  
Ghostly and gorgeous, and then she was gone.  
Minsc came to his senses and slackened his grip,  
crying.  
Minsc curled up on the stone,  
As sobbing wracked his chest.  
Veraka shushed his moans,  
And held him against her breast.

"But why, warrior women? How could we lose her, Boo?"  
Sure enough, the small rodent had survived their struggle  
And nuzzled Minsc's cheek as the stormy night endured.  
"We came so far, we carved a whole clan of gnolls,  
Stormed a stronghold with only four yet still we saw victory!  
Now I have failed her twice, all is fickle and foulness,  
My dajemma is doomed, I shall never be an Ice Dragon,  
A warrior is nothing without a witch to guard!"  
So moved was Veraka by Minsc's melancholy,  
The heroine had reply, her voice heavy with emotion,  
"Maybe I could be your witch, mighty Minsc."  
The jester's offer was so genuine it jarred him from moping,  
And he asked, "A warrior woman like you is a witch?"  
She smiled, "A jester stores many secrets away,  
And spells are one. Watch." She walked in the cave  
And found a fallen xvart knocked unconscious by Minsc.  
She was not clad in chainmail so was capable of casting,  
And she drained its life, killing it and healing herself.  
Xzar sniffled, "You see? They grow up so fast."  
Minsc said, "Well, I wouldn't have believed that a witch  
Could fight so fiercely, yet I find it fair and true!  
If you will have me I am happy to help you,  
And be your berserker, at your beck and behest."  
"A friend and a guardian is good enough," she grinned,  
Then grew more somber as she stepped in from the storm.  
"I don't know the rituals she would rate in Rasheman,  
But I could help build a cairn, this cliff has plenty of rocks."  
"We might wait till morning for the storm to move past,"  
Imoen murmured, making study of Veraka.  
"Yes, I will watch and be wakeful my witch.  
At first light I will load up large rocks for a cairn,  
I hope our hard works are heard D-Dynaheir,"  
Minsc faltered.  
They waited until dawn  
The storm soon struggled past  
Before the group moved on,  
They built a cairn to last.

As Minsc moved stones in melancholy manner,  
Imoen said, "Guys, we're gonna go have girl-talk,  
So keep stacking stones and we'll see you soon.  
Don't worry, we won't go far on our walk."  
Veraka said, "We are?" Imoen whisked her away.  
Before they traipsed far Imoen turned to Veraka,  
Her countenance almost cold; Veraka was concerned.  
"Time to spill the beans sister, I want the whole story.  
Did you do something to get Dynaheir killed?"  
Veraka was scandalized, and said with some shock,  
"No, Imoen! Now how could I get a xvart night raid  
To work with me anyway, and why would you think that?"  
Imoen stared at her hard, but her face finally softened.  
"Okay, so maybe Minsc needed more light  
To be a good guard and give us protection.  
If you didn't want Dynaheir dead, then why  
Aren't you talking about taking her body to town?  
We could resurrect her," Imoen replied, eyebrows raised.  
Veraka was struck still by the question for a second,  
But she said, "Imoen, it takes money to muster  
A cleric's cures, let alone casting resurrection!"  
Imoen muttered, "That malarkey might work on Minsc,  
But I keep a count on our coins and rare crystals.  
When we sell off this stuff at the Nashkel store,  
We could raise her a dozen times and drown in drinks,  
And live like royal ladies in Beregost for a month.  
Don't placate me Veraka, we're sworn sisters since seven,  
Tell me the truth if you trust me at all!"  
Veraka saw Imoen was sincerely serious,  
So she struggled to find words to suit the story:  
"I admit I didn't like Dynaheir when we met;  
She meant much to Minsc, but to her he's mere servant.  
She came across cutting and cold when we met,  
It might've been a mistake yet it sticks in my mind.  
It may just be jealousy, this journey unnerves me  
And I'm at my wit's end. I don't want his witch,  
Does that make me a murdering monster, Imoen?"  
"No, V'aka," Imoen sighed and sat on a stone,  
"Maybe Minsc is better off to make his own way.  
I don't like the doctrine of letting her die,  
But we always had different ideas on death.  
I know Gorion pledged himself to peace when he passed,  
Or I bet you'd 've brought 'im back by now." She nodded;  
Imoen's insights always impressed Veraka,  
it seemed.  
Imoen was far more wise  
Than the bard she bravely followed.  
Veraka had no guise  
Her friend did not find hollow.

"Another thing," Imoen then said thoughtfully,  
"How long have you kept your cleric cures secret?  
I know you offer prayers pell-mell through the pantheon,  
And bards don't have to devote to deities, do they?"  
Veraka said, "Imoen, it scares me just slightly,  
I don't know why I warrant a cure from my will.  
I had a strange dream where I dared the dark wood  
Instead of a straight path that seemed so easy.  
Gorion's ghost gave me a smile, but then  
When I woke I heard words: You will learn.  
I found this fickle cure from inside me upon waking."  
Imoen looked worried. "Well, I was glad to get  
That heal, so perhaps it's a heavenly gift.  
Just keep me posted on weird powers or pranks,  
We're sworn sisters, right?" Veraka then smiled,  
and said, "Just promise not to get pummeled by punks,  
And I'll tell you my troubles and trickery, okay?"  
The two traveled back to face Dynaheir's  
cold cairn.  
The stones were set in place,  
The cave did hold her form.  
The shelter of that base  
Would keep off wind and storm.

Once Dynaheir was delivered into death's house,  
Minsc said, "There is some speech we should give Dynaheir,  
But I know not the words that are needed for witches."  
Xzar said, "You know, I was nearly a noble cleric,  
Perhaps I could provide some poignant parable."  
"Don't you dare, I will speak on behalf of the dead,  
Now is not the moment, necromancer," Veraka said.  
"Death is every moment," Xzar muttered most darkly.  
"We carefully commit Dynaheir's body to the cairn;  
Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust;  
In the sure and certain hope of the passage to life eternal,"  
Veraka said solemnly, and it seemed suitable enough.  
Minsc kneeled near the cairn and intoned a foreign tongue  
But his words were brief, and he walked to Veraka.  
"Boo is simply overcome with such sadness, let us strive  
To go wheresoever my new witch would bid,"  
Minsc said with some struggle. Veraka took his hand,  
Their calloused skin came in comforting contact.  
"We will walk back to Nashkel, take time to resupply,  
Then head towards the mine to make good the mayor's promise.  
We might remain a day to rest and recover,  
To start healing the wounds we wear," Veraka said.  
They gave grim nods, then gathered to leave for  
Nashkel.  
They paused to honor she  
Who fell in fatal fight.  
Veraka vowed to see  
Them leave that land of blight.

They left the cruel crags and came again to lands  
More green and giving as the hours gave way.  
Imoen stepped to stand near Veraka and soon  
The sworn sisters were speaking in soft undertones.  
"Not to pry, but I was peeking at your pal Minsc,  
And the man is pretty meaty if you catch my meaning,"  
Imoen giggled, and Veraka gave the girl a push  
In mock outrage. "Imoen! You mean you stole a glance,  
And didn't include me? How dare you, little deviant!"  
"Hey, I'm not so little, and HE is quite large!" she laughed,  
And Veraka began pelting her with pokes, prods and tickles  
Till the two took off on a tear through the fields  
For all the world warring like they were kids in Candlekeep.  
"Take this you trollop, for talking of plug-tails!"  
Veraka grinned gaily as she gave gaff to Imoen.  
"I happen to recall you helped drill a hole  
In the wall of the Watcher's barracks with me  
And took more than your share of time to peek!"  
Imoen challenged cheekily, and was chased once more.  
"Them kids could wreck a whole region, Ah reckon,"  
Xzar spoke in a drawl and shook his head slightly.  
Minsc gave a mild grin as he watched the girls gallivant,  
And his heart was less heavy from his harrowing thoughts  
Of the punishment that might pass for failing to protect  
His Wychlaran witch Dynaheir; he watched his new ward.  
When at last they collapsed and lay among flowers,  
Imoen turned to Veraka and asked, "What's the tome?"  
Taken offguard, Veraka said, "Oh, the tome we took  
From the cliff cave. I can't lie, there's powerful magic,  
It seems one who studies it will strengthen charisma  
And be more puissant in their power with people."  
Imoen smiled, "Don't worry, we want you to have it,  
A likeable leader lends us all luck."  
Veraka pulled out the tome and peeked at the pages  
The words took to her in a torrent, more quickly than normal,  
And within one minute Minsc's new witch was transformed.  
Veraka had always been a handsome heartbreaker,  
But she approached angelic allurement after this  
Her magnetism passed the mention of mortals  
And Imoen sat stunned at the sudden switch.  
"I thought it took time to read those tomes!"  
Imoen stammered as she stared at her sworn sister.  
"A week without interruption," Veraka whispered,  
Sensing some power struggling within  
her soul.  
Her beauty and her charm  
Now surpassed mortal measure.  
She guessed there was no harm  
In speeding up the treasure.

"Gosh, I never knew a girl could be so gorgeous,"  
Imoen said as she stared, her eyes seemed starstruck.  
"Imoen, it's still me, I'm Veraka, are you in there?"  
Veraka said, suddenly uncomfortable with such praise.  
"Oh, of course! Wow, that's cool, I still can't believe it,  
It's like the magic leapt off the page and latched on you."  
Veraka nodded, knowing this was not normal.  
"Well, I was going to ask about you being a 'witch,'  
Before that book made you even more beautiful.  
Are you just being nice to Boo's brave berserker,  
Or is there something more?" Imoen asked with a smile.  
"Too soon to tell, though the trial on the cliffs  
Made me feel close to Minsc; and all that muscle and musk..."  
Veraka trailed off, and Imoen took to teasing.  
"Well, if you like scary guys who swing giant swords,  
And big weapons too, I guess he and Boo aren't bad."  
Veraka tickled Imoen back to the group  
And said, "Enough, you sassy strumpet! I'll sing a song,"  
And the companions kept on to Nashkel in camaraderie and  
cadence.  
Minsc's spirits then did lift  
To see the bard at play.  
Her jesting was a gift  
To mend his heart that day.


	3. Part 3

Part 3

The companions camped once before coming to Nashkel,  
And relief ran rampant when they had returned.  
They gladly paid the proprietor of the inn for plain rooms;  
Simple beds were the best his inn could boast,  
Yet it seemed luxurious next to sleeping on stone.  
Veraka used her curious cure to clear up wounds  
Till their bodies were whole, ready for brave battle.  
Veraka and Xzar studied scrolls they had salvaged  
Out of treasure taken by gnolls and tiny xvarts  
So now new knowledge could be put into practice  
When next they needed to knock down foes.  
The group gathered at breakfast and Veraka began:  
"We have weathered the wilds a bit worse for wear,  
And the mines may prove to hold more melancholy  
So let us seek today to restore ourselves  
And find fun at the fair just east from here.  
We will take this day to indulge a dalliance,  
But by breakfast tomorrow, we will be in the mines."  
Xzar said, "This delay does damage my purpose...  
Wait, we're going to the fair?! What fun we will have!"  
He began to act boyish and blathered about bubbles.  
Minsc said, "As you wish my witch, we will wander  
And see some spectacles, as Boo has said."  
Veraka could see Dynaheir still stayed in his thoughts  
So she squeezed his hand and hoped for a good day.  
Imoen said, "Well, a carnival could help ease our cares,  
So sure big sister, let's step out in style!"  
They traveled to the east, to the big tents of Nashkel's  
carnival.  
They planned a day in fun  
At the carnival in the clearing.  
Xzar acted like a son,  
Imoen was quite endearing.

They came to the carnival and saw curious sights  
Some performers put on a play most jocular  
Filled with slapstick scenes and sordid satire  
And they were made merry by the madcap troupe.  
They heard a haunting poem of horror and sorrow  
Named "Nosferatu" after vampire's night-kind,  
Then they came to a thaumaturge performing there  
Going by the name of The Great Gazib.  
"Allow me to let you leer at Oopah, in all the world  
The only exploding ogre!" An ornery ogre appeared,  
And sure enough burst into blood and bits of body.  
Imoen stood stunned while the others screamed for more,  
So The Great Gazib gave in and the ghoulish act repeated:  
The Amazing Oopah appeared, then presently exploded  
Into paste and parts, and the party cheered the performance.  
"Great fun! Right Boo?" Minsc grinned and guffawed.  
They laughed and lauded the lurid hoopla  
To so much merit the mage readied an encore  
But Oopah was not amused and began to make melee  
And The Great Gazib gathered up his robes and ran.  
The heroes had been caught off-guard by this hatred  
But soon brought the brute down, bloody and butchered.  
Minsc looked on sadly, "So no more explosions?"  
Veraka said, "Enough sadness, let's seek shopping instead."  
As they came to the tents, a tall glowing figure  
approached.  
A man dressed as a fool  
Came to Veraka's side.  
"Your tailor is a tool,  
If I wore that, I'd hide."

The man went on, "We couldn't leave the weapons and armor  
At the inn, and enjoy less injurious pleasures?  
This is a carnival, not an arena my ribald ruffians."  
"Oh, but it could be," Xzar said, crazed and creepy.  
"Och, but aet could be, laddy," Lord Binky belabored,  
Mocking the man in the manner of a dwarf.  
Veraka placed a hand on her hip and pointed,  
Then shouted, "Fools' Duel!" flippantly through the fair.  
Performers and pedestrians both came to perceive  
The showdown she declared taking shape on the grounds.  
"By what right are you called fool?" the man replied readily,  
Though he had not expected to harangue a jester.  
"By my studies sir," she said, taking a silly stance.  
"And where have you studied?" he said sassily.  
"I come from great Candlekeep, Veraka Cursebringer I'm called,  
Where every book was brought to be held in my brain.  
A cranky old coot of a cook taught me singing,  
And my travels, to tell true, have made me insane.  
Now I demand the degree of the dolt I'm stinging!"  
Veraka rallied cheers, and the man made reply.  
"You besmirch me bozo, I'm Lord Binky the Buffoon!  
I braved many a barrel of brandy this moon,  
I once may've been merchant who moved ingot iron  
Which makes me as mad as the most testy wyvern."  
"To the duel, then!" Veraka declared daringly.  
"As the challenged, I choose puns," he chimed cheekily.  
Veraka took a breath, then verily she vied:  
"You're barking up the wrong tree, it's best to be leafing,  
This branch has been closed, I'm berry serious, be fleeing!  
Yew'll really root the day you crossed me, I'm nuts,  
Pack your trunk, you're not poplar, Elm pities you Gus!"  
The growing crowd cheered on the chiding jester's cheek.  
"I shan't shirt my duties, so I'll sock it to you sister,  
You're panting for poor puns but I'll coat you in blisters!  
I'll shoe you the side door, no redress for this slip,  
Your talent is underwear mine is, take tips!"  
The crowd brayed boos, mostly because their buffoon  
Was wearing thin with some and they wanted fresh jokes.  
"The tourists almost rose to violets, my tulips are no intrusion,  
I will make marigold, you'll be a black-eyed susan.  
Your daisies here are done, but don't be a bummer  
Your lilacs levity, say farewell to summer."  
The crowd cheered for Veraka's flowery floral puns,  
Then Lord Binky the Buffoon made his rebuttal:  
"You better soup up your style, you don't impress this old salt.  
Your season turns chili, you'll be desserted for faults.  
If I egg you on now, I'll be on a roll  
It'd be butter if you yeast out the door, don't be droll."  
The crowd kept booing Lord Binky the Buffoon.  
Veraka said, "The day is mine, so make tracks my friend,  
Cart off ore I'll pick on you punk, this part's the end.  
I've rocked you, you're shafted, you don't have the stones,  
My digs have struck gold, I've hammered it home."  
The crowd had many miners, and they made such clamor  
That Lord Binky the Buffoon said, "Truly, I am beaten.  
I cannot compete with Veraka Cursebringer,  
The carnival is yours." He clomped off, downcast and  
beaten.  
Veraka verily won  
Her Fools' Duel at the fair.  
Lord Binky's time was done,  
He walked off in despair.

Veraka was crowned Queen of Fools for the carnival,  
And took as much pleasure performing as participating,  
Taking part in some improvisation for pure fun.  
They came to shops with curious commodities,  
And gambled some money, losing a little good gold.  
A man tried to pickpocket Veraka at one point,  
Declaring, "It is your honor to be duped by dread Vitiare,  
The cagiest pickpocket who ever came to the Sword Coast!"  
The travelers took exception to his theft and fought,  
And mighty Minsc laid low the bragging man meetly,  
Cleaving him in twain for causing Veraka consternation  
Before Vitiare got away with ill-gotten gold.  
"Are you well, my witch? He did not wound you with poison?"  
Minsc asked with concern, and Veraka smiled kindly.  
"I'm fine, there's one less pickpocket to pilfer our purses,  
Though this fair is proving more thorny than I thought,"  
Veraka said, and it seemed odd in a place of such merriment  
They still were beset and surrounded by death.  
"Come, let's seek a new tent," she said, and stormed away  
As Imoen hurried to help herself to Vitiare's belongings.  
They entered a new tent, and saw two figures at odds:  
Two mages, a man and woman, were casting magic  
And the man seemed about to set loose a spell  
When Imoen bounced in behind them: "Heya, I'm back!"  
The man said, "Hold, I am Zordral, and I have here a witch,  
The worse kind of woman, a wild one who will kill  
The livestock of this land, and lure away the young men!  
My spell is nearly done, stand aside so I may focus!"  
The lady said, "This is ridiculous, you must see he's lying!"  
Veraka said, "A witch, eh? Well I'm a witch too,  
And we all use magic here, you're a mage yourself man!  
How do I know you haven't hexed the livestock here,  
And intend to attempt your terrible charms on me?"  
"You mock the great Zordral? You must suffer now, maggots!"  
The heroes clashed once more at the carnival with casting,  
Xzar slung a spell quickly to interrupt Zordral,  
And they had him soon dead, his head in the dust.  
The lady began, "I thank you, I am Bentha brave heroes,  
If you had not happened to help I would surely be dead.  
Zordral was a rival of mine, and ready to rip  
My lifeforce from me. Please, feel free to take  
Anything from him or his tent, I have enough."  
"Couldn't you spare something?" Xzar asked suggestively.  
"I do have this potion I planned to sell, perhaps  
It will do you more good, I give you this gift."  
Bentha handed Veraka a bold hero's brew,  
Then made her way meetly from the dead mage's tent.  
Imoen and Xzar shrugged and stripped down the shelves  
Set up like a merchant's tent might be, making money.  
Veraka looked lost, and let loose a lament of fear and  
sadness.  
"Such dying here, but why?  
This is a festival day!"  
She looked about to cry  
And quickly turned away.

Imoen said, "Hey, how 'bout you two take care of this tent?  
Veraka needs some air, we'll be just south of ya, see?"  
They stepped into the sunlight, but Veraka saw death  
And she suppressed a sob as they stepped a little south.  
Veraka said, "Why is it I see so much death?  
Since Gorion said we had to leave, I've seen such slaughter.  
Sometimes it's assassins, but I've slain simple mercenaries,  
Saved some but slew others, I've killed more than I saved.  
It's everywhere, always with me, it wafts in the air,  
And I can't have one day to delve in innocent delights  
And make Minsc forget just one moment about Dynaheir,  
Or me about Gorion!" She gave over to gasping sobs.  
Imoen had no words, but held her in a hug,  
And cried with her because she cared, because Candlekeep  
Felt a world away, and there would be no wise elder  
To come take them home and keep them from killers;  
The sworn sisters felt scared and small for a moment.  
Eventually, Imoen ventured, "Hey Veraka,  
A lot of folks had fun at the Fools' Duel earlier.  
I saw Minsc smile some today, so I reckon  
He'll recover, it just takes time to figure out.  
I think it's weird too how we've witnessed so much;  
Candlekeep seemed so safe, death there was solemn.  
No matter what, we'll watch out for one another,  
Even if the rest of the world is really rank."  
Veraka raised an eyebrow and a rueful smirk,  
And said, "Sworn sisters, even if Sword Coast stinks."  
They placed palms together in the same pact they made  
When they swore to be sisters at the age of seven.  
They straightened up, and went to where their warriors  
Waited to accompany them through the carnival  
clearing.  
Veraka had seen death,  
But Imoen kept her sane.  
They both had been bereft,  
But fought on past the pain.

When the two returned from Veraka's troubles,  
She said, "Perhaps we should seek out the mines,  
For trouble finds us truly no matter the trip we take."  
Minsc said, "As you wish, but Boo still enjoys the sights."  
Xzar said, "The day is half done, and I don't desire  
To sleep in the murky mines if it may be helped.  
Let's finish with the festival and find an inn room  
As per the plan, oh pulchritudinous one."  
Imoen said, "Well sis, there's still some tents left,  
And I know a Queen of Fools who should confound and befuddle  
The crowds and caravans, Veraka." She grinned.  
Veraka soon smiled and said, "It seems silly  
To fight against the will of my fine friends,  
So we'll canvass the carnival and confuse the locals."  
As they walked, Xzar said, "Wait, we're friends?" with whimsy.  
"Of course, now come on!" They came to more merchants,  
And ran across a halfling hawking a stone heroine,  
Offering to sell a scroll of Stone to Flesh to save  
The captive now comprised of coarse granite on display.  
Veraka said, "We will leave it to luck for this lady,"  
And flipped her copper coin to consider the matter.  
The coin turned to tails and she did not take the offer,  
Saving some money for more merited actions.  
The four had their fill of fun and returned to the inn,  
One last rest before they reached the region's  
iron mines.  
They went early to bed,  
So they rose fresh and fine.  
Minsc scouted some ahead  
As they approached the mine.

A few hours' trek brought their troupe to the mine,  
And the foreman found them fit for entering within  
The dreaded darkness where many met their doom.  
Xzar struck up a torch to light their travels,  
And Veraka and Minsc moved into the mine's mouth.  
The miners and guards gave them ghoulish stories  
Of demons and dragons and undead in the deep,  
But soon enough they saw for themselves some ways in  
It was kobolds creeping in the darkness to kill,  
One of the weakest foes a warrior would face.  
Minsc laughed, "Mere kobolds cannot stop my might!  
Come, we will clean this mine of cowering kobolds!"  
The heroes hewed their way through hateful kobolds  
Who brought bow and arrow and small blades to bear  
But were quickly quelled by the questing champions;  
Only numbers now favored the nasty invaders.  
As they sliced a bloody swath through stubborn foes,  
They saw that some kobolds carried flasks to coat  
The iron ore in ruinous residue to render it  
Brittle and barely useable, sabotage for sure.  
"Why would kobolds want to wither iron?"  
Veraka asked. Xzar replied, "They are wriggling marionettes,  
Some schemer sends these lackeys to sloppy sabotage.  
We will find the wily ones, they will wail for mercy!"  
"My sword will be mercy to make them more behaved!"  
Minsc cried, and they came to clear out the mine's third  
level.  
They cleared the upper halls  
Killing kobolds with ease  
Yet something made them stall  
And filled them with unease.


End file.
